Guess who I met?

Ya, it was him:



Please pay attention to the eyebrows because that was really the main point of the thingy. He had shaved them off. More about that later.

He was obviously cold because Wisconsin is fuckin' freezing at this time of the year, right? He had been dropped off by the Sheriff (or, more appropriately and likely, someone who works for the Sheriff) for running down the freeway (aka playing in traffic). And he was asking everyone at Denny's for a ride to St. Paul or Minneapolis. Not happening.

Then I snapped into work voice with all my seriousness and was like, "SIR! Excuse me, please come over here." And I got the story from him. Which consisted of a friend in the military in St. Paul leaving him in Wisconsin because of whoknowswhy but it was over 2 hours ago but a joke and this friend lives with his Grandma (sound familiar?) and cannot be called past 8 o'clock.

Now it's cold and I'm off work and not fixing to drive back there but I thought we could maybe help him out? So I asked him if he had been drinking and he said no. Then I asked him what happened to his eyebrows and Gabe lost control of his laughter-stifler bit. I did not. He said he shaved them and he thinks it's attractive. At this point in time, I knew he was on meth because a crazy person wouldn't be that way about it -- he was almost freaking out! I told him that shaving your eyebrows like that isn't normal and wasn't going to help him get a ride in Denny's.

SO. I asked him if he wanted me to find a place for him to stay for the night, with a ride in the morning...and he said, "STAY?!?!?!?!?!?!" like I offered him chlamydia (which I didn't, I swear). He then decided to put on his stuff and "jog" back to St. Paul and denied that it was cold for him.

Once a playintraffic type, always a playintraffic type? Or meth with no marbles?

Drinkin' Coffee, Gettin' Paid

So. Last Thursday (November 6, 2008) I was sitting at the counter reading Borderlands/La Frontera: The New Mestiza by Gloria Anzaldúa with Luke nearby when a horrible racket erupted from the corner booth (not the Denzel Electronic Press think tank booth, but the other one). It was a loud-assed, anti-rhythmic tinkling of change being tossed about.

Eventually, the kids responsible for said fuss realized they were being annoying. Luke agreed with them that yeah, it was kind of annoying. I turned around and told them that it was really annoying. I also told them that I'm sure I could find a tool to perform a lobotomy somewhere.

To which brontosaurus dipshit said, "Is that a threat? I've got a knife in my pocket..." followed by more nonsensical babble from brontosaurus, who clearly did not know his asshole from his piehole because he was letting the wrong one run. I responded that I didn't mean to threaten (Who? Me? Threaten?), rather I felt as though someone who was amused by bouncing quarters off tables could probably be helped by a lobotomy.

To which Dude Bronto responded, "What? You've never played quarters or beer pong?" And another voice chimed in and said, "That's what I was gonna say" or something to that effect. And ladies and gentlemen--I have never played beer pong or quarters. Which apparently, according to Dude Bronto means that I must not have much a social life. I was, of course, forced to inform him that my friends and I don't need to put on airs to drink, we don't need to play little games, etc. Don't forget--I am from Wisconsin.

AND beer pong is gross. But I didn't need to go into the management of germs with Dude Bronto because I can tell a lost cause when I see one.

Anyway. He said that didn't sound like much fun. Then it began in earnest--the whole "you're just jealous" thing. That's right. Dude Bronto asserts that I cannot play quarters and I'm jealous. I was becoming flustered at this point (I do not have to deal with such idiotic fuckery as a genderal rule). So I told Bronto Dude that he should probably live in a group home. And Bronto Dude is all, "What if I already do?" So I was all, "I'm gonna call them and tell them not to let you leave without your helmet anymore."

Then he got pissed. And decided that he'd rather be a dumbass that a "dyke who sits at Denny's reading." To which I shrugged my shoulders. Because if he was a dyke, he'd surely be less idiotic and annoying--and if he read a book once a while, he'd probably be a whole lot smarter.

And I've been trying to channel my inner-dyke for about five months. Whatever, eh?

So then he and his little gaggle decide to leave, and Dude Bronto actually puts $1.50 (in QUARTERS, even) in front of me and says, "Try it sometime." I'm not sure what I was supposed to try: Calling his group home and reporting the helmet problem, being a dyke, reading a book...or maybe doing my laundry?

Who cares? I got paid.